Chapter I: The 9th Army Arrives
"The true soldier fights not because he hates what is in front of him, but because he loves what is behind him."- G.K. Chesterton
Hauptmann Gerhard Köln
German 12th Army, XX Corps
2nd Inf. Bat., 3rd Inf. Reg.
Potsdam, Berlin, Germany
3,6 kilometres from the River Elbe, 2nd IB Camp
26 April 1945
0631 hours
Gerhard groaned as he opened his eyes, the light of the rising sun blinding him as he crawled out of his tent. Blinking the white spots out of his eyes, he saw the forms of weary troops, both from the Heer and the local Volkssturm, moving around the encampment as they woke for the day and went about with their duties. There was very little conversation, and the few words that were exchanged were done so briefly and in hushed tones; with the whole of the Red Army surrounding the seat of German power, the mood of the Twelfth Army had understandably suffered.
'And yet, we all still keep fighting, somehow.' the hauptmann thought as he crossed the camp and entered the canteen. He gathered a stack of canned rations, counting them before throwing them in his satchel and making his way back to his squad's area. Entering into the small circle of tents, he sat and took out one of the cans, prying open the lid and, somewhat reluctantly, eating the mystery food inside. As he did, he took a moment to look at the bracelet on his wrist, his mind somewhat occupied by his dreams the previous night. The metal, once well-polished and bright, had grown dull and dirty throughout the many days of fighting it had been a part of. In one place, one of the links stood out noticeably from the rest; deformed from when a shard of shrapnel from a grenade had been blocked by the steel chain. For the most part, though, the trinket had survived the last few years with no real change from when Gerhard had received it.
He was brought out of his thoughts as Gunther Schneider, Gerhard's second-in-command and the oldest veteran in the squad, walked around the fire andtook a seat next to him. He nodded to the satchel at his feet and Gerhard grunted. "Go for it."
Permission granted, the stabsfeldwebel picked up the satchel and grabbed his own can of rations, then took out the rest and set them on the small table next to him. The other members of the squad, having stirred to the sound of work outside, slowly joined the circle around the fire one by one, and each in turn was given their share of breakfast for the morning. For the next few minutes, Gerhard and his squad were quiet, simply eating and trying to relax before starting the day.
"Well, it's better than yesterday's dinner."
The others chuckled at the observation, made by Hans Lehmann, another one of the older men in the squad. Gerhard nodded in agreement and he took another bite; the salted might-be-beef was certainly better than the thin gruel the kitchen had cobbled together last night. A few more words were exchanged as the hauptmann finished his food, tuning out the words of his subordinates. Once finished, he stood, knees popping in complaint and prompting a low curse from his mouth.
"What's the plan for today sir?" Bernard Seidel, one of the Volkssturm recruits, asked. The boy was no more than 16 years of age, much too young to have to be on a battlefield, but as per the orders from High Command, all able-bodied Berliners were to be conscripted for the city's defense.
"For now, get cleaned up here." Gerhard responded. "Stay ready to move out at a moment's notice, but enjoy yourself while you can. We should be getting some information today." The squad muttered in response; while the respite was nice, it was getting old waiting in one spot for orders, whether they be to retreat west or advance into Berlin. While the latter was certainly a suicide mission, it probably would beat doing absolutely nothing.
"Well…" Gunther said, standing up. The stabsfeldwebel picked up his rifle and slung it over his back. "I'm going to head over to Third Squad, see if there's anything to do." The other squad members nodded and began to move once more, each returning to their tent to begin their day. Gerhard looked to the west, where storm clouds were gathering as they moved towards Berlin. 'Even the weather seems to be against us.'
"Nasty clouds, eh sir?" Hans commented as he put a few things in his pack. Gerhard nodded, looking away from the skyline to the obergefreiter, a faint smile on his face.
"If anything, the rain will keep those 'Schlächten' off of us for a few days." Gerhard replied. The lance corporal grunted in presumed agreement as he shouldered his pack and began walking. However, he stopped, looking up. "Do you hear that?"
Hans paused, looking confused for a moment before he heard the raised voices and shouts from the other side of the battalion encampment. Taking a deep breath, the two grabbed their weapons before taking off at a light jog towards the disturbance.
General der Infanterie Theodor Busse
German 9th Army
Potsdam, Berlin, Germany
3,6 km from the River Elbe, 2d IB Camp
0702 hours
Theodor groaned as he kept walking towards the lines of tents in front of him. He heard the men around him shuffling as they tried to keep some semblance of order in their ranks. Somewhere behind him, an engine sputtered as one of the division's few remaining halftracks pushed through the thick mud of the fields. 'How the mighty have fallen. A general brought to his knees and his army in rags.' The once-proud Ninth Army, having been repeatedly thrown against the Soviet Red Army time and again during the Battle of Halbe, was reduced to no more than a few regiments, strung out across the front, most stuck inside the Soviet encirclement.
"Kommandant, look."
Busse looked up to where the young private was pointing, and his eyes met with a promising sight...German soldiers, in uniforms just as beat and worn as his own, were running out of the camp to meet his men. The new arrivals shouted to the men behind them, calling for medics and vehicles as they realized the state of the remnants of the Ninth Army.
'Gott...thank you for listening.' the general thought as he looked up into the sky. He made the sign of the cross over his chest and looked down just in time to see a few men confront him, spreading out to see what they could do to help as a hauptmann walked up, a worried look in his eyes as he saluted. "General Busse?"
The general returned the salute wearily before responding. "Ja, hauptmann. Good to see a friendly face again." He noted the identification markings of the Twelfth Army, realizing this was probably part of the force that had suffered alongside the Ninth at Halbe. It seemed they were in a slightly less sorry state than his own unit.
"What do you need, General?"
Sighing, the general looked around. "I say we start with attention for the wounded and food and water for the rest. We have too many casualties and not enough supplies." Busse trailed off as he shifted his weight to his other foot. "Though I'm sure you have the same issue."
The hauptmann said nothing, just nodded in agreement as he took in the long lines of ragged soldiers. "I can ask around, see what we can spare, sir. How many would you say are here?"
Theodor sighed, thinking back to the fierce battles the Ninth had fought recently, clawing their way out of Berlin at heavy loss. "No more than two thousand men total, most of which are wounded. We have no ammunition, no fuel reserves, and only a handful of medical supplies. There were more men, but they've all broken off or been captured or killed."
The hauptmann nodded once more, glancing behind him at an older sergeant. "Well, sir, I can show you to our command tent if you would like; General Wenck should be present today, disregarding any sudden meetings or the like." Busse made a noise in the affirmative, and with the younger officer's support, the three men began to slowly make their way into the camp of the 2nd Infantry Battalion. Far away, the distant storm rumbled as it slowly moved towards the besieged city of Berlin; a seemingly foul omen for the future of the city.